


It's a Joyous Thing

by felinefelicitations



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Aromantic!Ares, Arranged Marriage, Cultural Misunderstandings, Double Penetration, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hermes and Ares are not related 4 this fic, Historical Fantasy, Intersex!Thanatos, Long Hair, Matchmaking, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Pansexual!Hermes, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Royalty, Self-Identity, referenced Aphrodite/Ares/Hermes, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefelicitations/pseuds/felinefelicitations
Summary: Cathonia is full of horses and plains and poppy fields; it is full of mountains and rivers and mines. It is a beautiful kingdom, and it is an odd one, or so Hermes says.It is full of wealth, which is why, Ares supposes, his father did not oppose his mother arranging Ares’ marriage as part of the treaty.“I will see my son happily wed,” had been his mother’s final and only say on the matter when Ares demanded to know whyhimand not Hephaestus. Ares, despite being fifteen with all the lack of control that meant, did not point out that he would be happiestunmarried, because his mother was always, all his life, understanding of his deep seated preference for men.
Relationships: Ares/Hermes (Hades Video Game), Ares/Hermes/Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Hera & Nyx (Hades Video Game), Hermes/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 99





	It's a Joyous Thing

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: hermes is not actually a good spy
> 
> this is a bday fic for myself, and so while i have done my level best to deliver a good time for u, it is ultimately an excuse to write exactly the sort of story i desperately want more of in the world
> 
> hermes and ares are not related in this fic. Please mind the tag about gender dysphoria.

**1.  
**They’re strange down in Cathonia. It’s what Hermes says every time he comes back. Ares has never seen it himself—being a prince tends to mean he rarely gets a proper look at any strangeness at all—but that is, he supposes, why he has Hermes.

(It is not _why_ he has Hermes; it is the excuse he created to _keep_ Hermes.)

“Maybe you should lead with the only woman you’ve ever enjoyed fucking is your brother’s wife,” Hermes says, calling into question why Ares even keeps the man. “Really set her expectations.”

They are riding down to Cathonia ahead of the queen’s carriage and Hermes has, for the last several leagues, been attempting to drive Ares mad to pass the time.

“Though you might be able to convince her to wear breeches, get properly drunk, and then fuck her.”

“There’s an idea,” Ares says.

(“I could fuck her for you, bet that would get you up,” Hermes will say later, grinning wide as Ares shoves him to his knees.

“Like all those bastards we’ve got on your brother’s wife,” Hermes will say, undoing the laces of Ares’ pants as Ares twists his hair in a fist.

“Might be obvious, you and I aren’t much a match,” Hermes will say, or start to say, and Ares will fuck his mouth to shut him up, relish the sound of him choking, Hermes’ nails clawing into the meat of his thighs when Ares attempts anything like mercy.

Hermes will laugh after, wiping spend off his face and black eyes gleaming in the moonlight spilling through the window, prop himself up on an elbow as Ares stares at the ceiling above, carding his fingers through Hermes’ hair. Ares will feel less like a bull being led to sacrifice for the night, will wonder again how he manages to keep Hermes and if, in truth, it’s more that Hermes keeps _him_.)

(“What an interesting question,” Hermes had said the one time Ares asked, smile knife sharp.)

**

Cathonia is full of horses and plains and poppy fields; it is full of mountains and rivers and mines. It is a beautiful kingdom, and it is an odd one, or so Hermes says.

It is full of wealth, which is why, Ares supposes, his father did not oppose his mother arranging Ares’ marriage as part of the treaty.

“I will see my son happily wed,” had been his mother’s final and only say on the matter when Ares demanded to know why _him_ and not Hephaestus—this was years before Aphrodite.

Ares, despite being fifteen with all the lack of control that meant, did not point out that he would be happiest _un_ married, because his mother was always, all his life, understanding of his deep seated preference for men.

(He cannot explain Aphrodite.)

(He can—Hermes wanted to keep her.)

“So,” Hermes says as they breakfast, going through the toast faster than Ares will have a chance to eat any, “ _so_ , the brothers. You’ve got Eros, the eldest, he’s married, nice lady named Psyche, they’re horribly in love, he’s absolutely devoted to her, total bore, never managed to even get a flirt in with him. Charon, he was fun for a week, man of few words, no idea what he’s thinking ever. Hypnos, always half asleep but nice and the friendliest of them, and—” and here Hermes’ face goes soft, his smile soft, all of him soft as he sighs, “Thanatos.”

“Your darling boy I absolutely have to meet,” Ares says without any particular venom. He steals the last of the toast while Hermes is being maudlin. He has no idea what the jam is made of, but it is quite pleasant.

“Yes. You’ll love him.”

“We will see.”

Ares will love him—he loves everyone Hermes brings him, or close enough to please Hermes.

(Ares is still not actually sure what love _is_ to others, despite sitting through many an opera and more poetry than he thinks is strictly necessary—none of what he has ever heard of the emotion is anything like what Hermes inspires in him, and it is _certainly_ not what he feels for the men he beds.)

“You will,” Hermes says, then frowns. “Where did all the toast go?”

**

They will be wed for Ares’ thirtieth birthday, once pleasantly distant and now only a season away. The trip is mostly for finalizing wedding details, for gathering measurements, for—Ares is sure—his mother to gossip with her life time friend, Queen Nyx.

Fifteen years already, and any hope of seeing any of Cathonia’s strangeness is ruled quite out, as the court is quite aware what Olympia finds strange.

It is the first Ares has met Thana since the treaty was first signed. She is still veiled as she was when they met years and years ago, fabric dyed the deep purple the kingdom is famed for and trimmed in gold; it casts much of her face in shadow. An Olympian custom for future brides, in deference to he and his mother.

They are both adults now. She has not inherited her mother’s expansive chest, is very nearly his height, and broad shouldered—he thinks. The veil and tailoring make it difficult to be certain.

Ares thinks if he were drunk enough and she not in all the fluttering fabrics and skirts of a noble lady—if she were, say, in a pair of breeches and a waistcoat—he might actually manage to fuck her on their wedding night.

It's a pity Hermes fell in love with her twin and not her; that would make all this much easier.

“Your highness,” she says, precise and even.

“Princess,” he returns, because his mother will kill him if he is impolite in front of the assembled court, and places the most token of kisses to her offered hand.

She does not smile for any of the various activities they are escorted to; she speaks little, and Ares is perfectly happy with the silence. She eats little, when it is time to eat. She holds herself carefully, is careful not to allow the wind to tug her veil. She is quiet and serious and, from what he can tell, dreadfully devoted to her family.

(“So what did you think of her?” Hermes will ask later.)

There is horseback riding the second day of their stay and even if Ares will not be able to race, he will take any excuse to ride a horse. Cathonian horses are a delight—all whites and dappled greys, beautifully arched necks, broad chests and legs with pronounced feathering at their ankles. He is aware that several will be included in his betrothed’s dowry for his stables, and it almost makes the marriage worthwhile.

It is the only time he sees Thana smile. Her horse, a young and restless stallion, snorts and stamps; she lets out a low chuckle that turns Ares’ head, expecting to find one of her brothers.

(“She rides well,” Ares will tell Hermes.

“Is that enough to get your cock up though?” Hermes will ask, and Ares will push him out of the bed.)

**

They stay a week; Hermes sneaks back in through the window each night smelling of sex and full of all _kinds_ of interesting details about Cathonia’s little court that Ares does not need now, but might eventually.

“And how is your darling boy?” Ares asks because he has not once seen Thanatos at any of the events though he has, at this point, met all of Thana’s other brothers. They have each, in their own way, made it exceptionally clear Ares should be _humbled_ she is marrying him, as if their genders reversed.

“Away,” Hermes says, morose, which does explain why he’s doing his job. He helps himself to the wine Ares saved for him. “You would have loved him. Probably for the best, don’t want a repeat of Aphrodite.”

He is right, but Ares is still disappointed. He was looking forward to meeting the one Hermes gave his ring away to.

(They were both of them twenty and Ares had it made, the smartest thing he’s ever done, still, to this day—gold shaped like a feather to curl around Hermes’ finger.

“If there’s ever anyone else you’d want to keep,” Ares said.

“Should I just give it back to you?” Hermes asked.)

“Are you sure Thana has not murdered him?” Ares asks.

Hermes groans.

“Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to _believe_ that nonsense tale,” Hermes says.

Ares shrugs, smiling just a bit as Hermes starts ranting about _baseless rumours_ and the distinct, very distinct, lack of twin murdering that takes place in Cathonia, honestly, Ares should _know_ better than to _believe_ everything he hears about _Cathonia_ , and _another thing_ —

Ares rests his chin against his hand and watches Hermes pace and gesture with his drink, very nearly spilling it at times, animated and angry and still, always, full of all the emotion that puts Ares at something very nearly like peace.

(It wasn’t his father’s men that found him when he was kidnapped; it was Hermes. A bright eyed stable boy who had no idea what he was doing, saving Ares’ life. Ares was sixteen, had never loved, yet knew immediately what love was as Hermes grinned, haloed by the first light Ares had seen in days.)

“Are you even listening?” Hermes asks, frowning at Ares.

“No,” Ares says, honest, because it will make Hermes scowl.

It does, but it also makes Hermes laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t even know why I try,” Hermes says, setting his drink down and straddling Ares’ lap, which is far more agreeable indeed.

**

“There was nothing at all odd about Cathonia,” Ares says as they leave.

“They clean up nice for you,” Hermes says. “Shame, that.”

**2.  
**Here’s a picture:

Hermes, in Cathonia, alias of course because he’s there to see how things are, there to see if _maybe_ there’s any discontent from Princess Thana about the betrothal he _knows_ Ares doesn’t want to go through with, because suddenly ‘when the prince is thirty’ is actually just about five years away, when did _that_ happen. Hermes, in Cathonia for _work_ instead of pleasure—and oh does he love to be in Cathonia for pleasure—and the point is, the picture _is_ —

Thanatos, nineteen, riding in from who _knows_ where and directly into Hermes’ heart, all his white hair braided back, a little curl escaping to hang loose by his face; Thanatos, pretty stockings sleek over prettier ankles, firm calves, trim waist even trimmer in his waistcoat, broad shoulders and a perfect, beautiful laugh as he drew his restless stallion to a halt.

Hermes has always been weak for a man on horseback; look at Ares. He assumed he’d fall out of love, because Hermes is always falling in and out of love.

(Except Ares, but Ares is different; Hermes fell in love with Ares’ smile, was going to fall _out_ of love once he worked out how to get at least _one_ proper lay, but then Ares got kidnapped. Hermes rescued him because Hermes was an idiot sixteen year old that wanted to get laid, and the rest, as they say, is history.)

(Which is to say, Hermes could destroy Ares, and Ares would _let him_. Hermes was never going to be able to let Ares go.)

**

Cathonia’s an odd place, a fun place, a _good_ place—they clean up for the Olympians who come by, the court especially, but Cathonia’s ideas on sex are so much more _free_ than they are back home.

Hermes falls in love with everyone, just a little bit, and he learned quick in Cathonia to listen to what people say, because that’s what they _care_ about in Cathonia. It’s wonderful, really, and he’s had the pleasure, the _delight_ , of learning about all the varied and nuanced ways the people there like to talk about themselves, the fluidity of that speech, and he’s learned to take what they’re willing to allow him because at the end of the day, he's still an Olympian.

Which is why he absolutely never questioned what Thanatos would allow him, once he managed, _finally_ , to get between Thanatos’ legs, a week before he needed to go back to Ares and tell him—Venus’ perfect breasts, what was he meant to have been doing again? Something to do with the ever elusive Thana, but he was a bit _distracted_ trying to get between her twin’s thighs and who could blame him?

“Don’t,” Thanatos gasped, swatting Hermes’ hands away from getting to Thanatos’ cock trapped by his pants, tensing. Hermes set his hands around Thanatos’ trim little waist instead, just glad he could fuck up into him at all, glad he could watch Thanatos’ eyes flutter even if they were both still mostly dressed, thanking every god he could think of he could hear the tiny little whines and gasps spilling from those pretty lips. Thanatos, that little bit of his neck bare, and Hermes kissed all the skin he could reach, Thanatos’ hands twisting in his hair.

Hermes was babbling, he always babbled, he couldn’t help it, he didn’t even know what he was saying, except he said _something_ that made Thanatos shiver, made his face break, made him open those gold eyes and—

“Again, call me that again,” Thanatos said, pale brown skin flushing darker across his cheeks, his ears, down his chest.

Hermes stilled a moment, tried to remember what he’d said, realized he couldn’t because he just babbled, it was just words—

(but oh, those Cathonians, the words matter so much.)

“What did I say?” Hermes asked and he almost, almost expected Thanatos not to tell him. There was a tension in him, and not just because he was sat on Hermes’ cock; a bad tension, the kind of tension that would ruin what had, to this point, been _perfect_. “Tell me, say, it’s all right, just say,” and he stroked Thanatos’ sides, pressed another kiss to his collarbone, soft little kisses, rocking up just a little into him. “Than, Thanatos, tell me, I’ll call you it every day the rest of your life, just open your mouth—”

“‘Boy,’” Thanatos whispered, shivering in his arms and _oh_. “Call me—that.”

His hands, twisting so nervous, that flush.

“Darling boy,” Hermes said, Thanatos’ breath hitching. Hermes kept going, grabbing him by the waist again, getting him moving again, “Sweet boy, perfect boy, my darling boy, look at you,” and Thanatos sobbed, hands slipping from Hermes’ hair to his shoulders, fucking himself down on Hermes as Hermes kept babbling until they both were spent.

Thanatos, after, sweaty and leaned into Hermes and still struggling for breath and:

“Thank you.”

(Hermes might have been able to fall out of love, if not for that breathless, gratified _thank you_ , so like the one he’d heard at sixteen.)

“Here,” Hermes said end of the week, because he had to go, stealing one last kiss from the youngest of Nyx’s children, that prince that said _thank you_ so sweetly, every time, like he wasn’t handing Hermes a knife that Hermes could use to destroy him. “I’ve got places I’ve got to be, keep this until I find my way back. Fall in love in the meantime.”

Pressed that golden feather ring in his hand; he couldn’t keep Thanatos, Hermes knew. Thanatos would be married off, just like all his siblings, and Hermes already had a prince.

But still. It’s the thought, sometimes. Hermes _wanted_ to keep him, even if he couldn’t, and that’s what the ring was for anyway. People he’d want to keep, Ares to keep for him.

(Besides, maybe Ares would think of a way to do it. He did for Aphrodite.)

“I’ll wait,” Thanatos said, hand curling around the ring, eyes brilliant.

“I know you will, darling boy,” Hermes said, just to watch him flush.

**

Hermes really did mean to actually try and meet Thana, get to know her, find out why she was such a shut in every time he went to Cathonia, because shut in women was really more _Olympian_ than it was _Cathonian_ —it mattered to Ares, it was important, get her expectations for her marriage properly set because it’s not like Ares actually wished her _ill_.

It was just he’d get there and run into Thanatos.

Thanatos, horseback riding. Thanatos and that beautiful tension as he drew an arrow. Thanatos, serious little frown as he read, as he listened to Hermes’ stories. Thanatos, complaining about his maybe best friend he was in love with that one year. Thanatos, talking about his brothers. Thanatos, smiling, his low chuckle, his eye rolls and snorts and, best of all, rarest of all, that bright bell-like laughter Hermes first fell in love with, almost boyish in its delight and timbre.

Thanatos at twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two and twenty-three, every year filled out just a bit more; those broad shoulders, trim waist, all the muscle just beneath his softness. His long, long hair, carefully braided, his gold eyes bright.

Thanatos at every year pressing knives into Hermes’ hands.

(“Cupid save me, you really are a boy,” Hermes said on his knees, Thanatos’ breeches undone. Thanatos’ cock small, fitting in Hermes' palm easy, fitting perfect on Hermes’ tongue, and Thanatos coming nearly instantly, shuddering and overwhelmed, and all those thank yous spilling off his tongue as if Hermes were rescuing him.)

(Thanatos leaned against his chest. Them, under an apple tree, somewhere quiet and away. “Do you really think so?"

Thanatos, twisting that golden feather on his finger, all that trembling fear, still. Always caught in his own head; Hermes didn’t see why he was always so _worried_ about what Hermes thought. Hermes didn’t see much point in worrying what anyone thought, so long as they thought what he wanted them to.

"Could stick you in the prettiest dress in the world and wouldn't change a thing, really.")

(“Here,” Thanatos said, kicking his breeches off entirely for the first time, stockings still over his calves, and undershirt loose. “Here, here, please,” Thanatos sobbing, guiding Hermes’ hand between his thighs; Hermes sliding his hand over a now familiar cock and instead of what he was expecting, finding heat and damp. Thanatos, staring at him and trembling terrified.

All those questions about men and boys and what Hermes _thought_ snapping into focus.

“My darling boy,” Hermes murmured, kissing tear stained cheeks. “Oh, darling boy, my forever boy.”)

(“There’s a man, the one who gave me that ring you wear. He’s going to keep you safe for me, spoil you rotten while I’m away,” Hermes said, head resting in Thanatos’ lap, twining a curl around his fingers. “He’d love you, much as I do, more. It’s what the ring’s for, you know.”

Thanatos’ breath hitching, skin flushing dark.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Thanatos said, looking away as his hands tightened in Hermes’ clothes.)

**

Hermes wanted, when Ares went to Cathonia, to share.

They’ve always shared everything and everyone, him and Ares. Or, rather, Hermes shares with Ares.

(Hermes was _supposed_ to spy on Aphrodite when she was new at court. Hermes fell in love, instead, and like an _idiot_ told Ares because at twenty he didn’t actually realize what Ares _meant_ by love. It nearly got he and Ares both killed, _did_ end up with Aphrodite married to Hephaestus, and made a proper mess of _everything_. Apollo _still_ won’t speak with Ares when he visits court.

It got Hermes a ring, for the next time Hermes found someone he wanted to keep.)

Hermes wanted to share; he wanted to give Ares someone he’d love, and not just because Hermes asked him to like he had with Aphrodite. Ares loves men, or is in lust enough, and Ares would love Thanatos’ temper, his grace, his skill with a saber. Ares would love that trim waist, but he’d favour the curve of his ass more. He’d love Thanatos’ interest in hunting, in strategy.

He’d love him on horseback, but that’s not so different from Hermes at all.

(The first time he saw Ares was at sixteen, sunrise, out riding before the palace proper woke, careful composure broken and speeding his horse faster across the field. Ares does so love a good ride, and Hermes has always loved a man on horseback.)

“Prince Hypnos,” Hermes said, and Hypnos smiled, lazy and easy.

“Dolios, back again? So nice to see you.”

“Always my pleasure, your Highness. Is your brother in? I’ve got silks he’ll want to see.”

“Oh, right, about that, you just missed him. He’s away, really horrible timing, isn’t it?” Hypnos sighed, then perked up. “What kind of silks?”

They do so love their fabric in Cathonia.

And so, for the very first time in years, Hermes actually had time in Cathonia. There were all kinds of things to learn, which he took back to Ares. It was a bad week for getting anywhere near Princess Thana, but Ares was spending the days with her—chaperoned, so just above useless, but it assuaged the guilt that Hermes had not, in fact, ever done what he was sent to do.

Hermes hung back, snuck into Ares’ room at night. He brought back what secrets he could and thought it just a bit odd, really, that no one remarked at all on Thanatos’ absence. If it were Artemis getting wed—a hilarious thought if there ever was one—Apollo would certainly not go _traveling_. Away. Wherever.

But, thinking on it, Thanatos had never spoken of Thana, had he? Maybe they weren’t so close.

**

“Perhaps we could get them to trade places,” Hermes says as they leave. “The twins.”

“There’s an idea,” Ares says.

“You think Thana would do it?”

Ares cocks his head just a little, brows dipping. Thinking. Hermes stays quiet, half hopes for a yes, for a reason to come back to Cathonia before the wedding.

“No,” Ares says finally. "Her family is much more responsible than mine."

**3.**  
They’re four and forever chasing their brothers. It should be a joyous thing, them choosing how they wish to be. It is. Their mother smiles and their clothes are pretty like their brothers, little silk stockings with ribbons and tiny waistcoats and it makes them happy, much happier than dresses and skirts.

They have two names and they both fit, sort of, but one fits better and at six they declare, firmly, they’re really a _he_ , like their brothers, and Thanatos, the name that fits better.

It’s supposed to be joyous, picking who he is. It is.

Only the dresses never quite disappear from his closet. Only they never bury his other name.

“You will need it,” his mother says.

**

He overhears his eldest brother arguing with his mother one day. He doesn’t remember what it’s about, except it’s about him. He remembers Eros storming out, furious, and catching sight of him. He remembers Eros scooping him up and kissing his face and taking him to the kitchens and letting him eat whatever he wanted.

“You are a very good brother,” Eros tells him.

He remembers those words often, later.

**

When he’s nine, his mother takes him to her sitting room and she explains why the dresses haven’t quite disappeared, why they didn't properly bury Thana. She explains about treaties and how Olympians see things. She explains that he will still, always, be himself and that he will, hopefully, be happy with the prince she and her friend have chosen. She believes they will be happy.

He doesn’t understand most of it.

“Is it… this will help our family?” he finally asks. He loves his family and his brothers and he can, he thinks, pretend to be a princess for them.

Mother sighs.

“Yes,” she finally says. “It will help many people.”

**

His closest brother is Hypnos. Hypnos is a boy, both in the Cathonian sense and the Olympian sense. He’s happy that way.

Sometimes, he wonders what would have happened if Hypnos had decided to be a girl, instead. He wonders if it would be better if he were like his grandparent that switches between names easily, all of them fitting perfectly. He wonders if it would be easier if he hadn’t gotten to choose for himself who he is.

He doesn’t tell Hypnos those sorts of thoughts anymore. He doesn’t want to upset him. It’s a joyous thing, Hypnos knowing what he is, being what he is. And it’s not like Thanatos doesn’t spend almost all his time as himself, anyway.

He stops correcting people if they use the wrong name, sometimes. It’s good practice, probably. The Olympians are only going to know him as the girl that should have been buried.

**

The treaty is signed when he’s ten. She’s.

He’s meant to be _she_ for the Olympians.

He remembers very little of it. He remembers dresses and a veil that made it difficult to see well, he remembers there was a great deal of talking and ceremony. He remembers he met his future husband and that he did not seem very happy either.

He remembers thinking the prince didn’t seem to like girls very much.

Mostly he remembers sneaking out at night, as soon as he could tear off the veil and dresses and underthings. Remembers dragging out one of the horses and crawling on their back and riding and riding and riding.

Riding always feels right.

He remembers he expects to get in trouble, and that he doesn’t. Just his brothers waiting up, his mother, being folded back into their arms and soothed and given anything he wanted to eat at all. Told stories until he laughed—Charon’s stories, which were the best, and Hypnos’, which were the funniest. Eros singing for him and Mother holding him.

Falling asleep like that. Doing it again the next day, and the next, and the next, for seven of them.

**

(He is not, ever, just a boy. He tries not to ache at how much that’s all he wants to be.)

**

He keeps growing. He’s lucky, he supposes—he saw Megaera grow, the hips and the breasts and all the rest, and he would stare in the mirror terrified of what might happen to his body.

But he’s lucky. He’s tall as his brothers, softer than them, his hips don’t go that wide. He takes up archery and fencing with far more dedication, and the muscle hides what little bit of breast he does get. He can’t grow a beard but he wouldn’t want one anyway.

(He is, if he is honest, a little disappointed that his cock stays small, that his cunt doesn’t magically disappear.)

His appearance is like him—caught between. Like all of him. He likes his body, ultimately; he knows not everyone gets to like their body. It’s _his_.

He’s lucky.

(He wouldn't even wish to change at all, if not for knowing what Olympia thinks of him.)

**

It gets harder, as he gets older, to fit back into that name. He does it anyway, alternates months and then, later, seasons. He needs the practice speaking as Thana, wearing the dresses, dancing backwards, demuring like Olympians do instead of simply saying what he thinks—he needs the practice at Thana, future princess of Olympia.

He keeps his fury to himself. It is better to secure peace with a marriage and trade agreements than a bloody war his kingdom would likely lose. At least this way his mother was able to set the terms.

It will keep his family safe.

**

He goes riding often. It helps with the anger.

He wears his favourite clothes—black breeches and silk stockings, a linen undershirt, a black silk waistcoat that is shot through with silver and purples that sheen. He braids his hair neatly, ties it with a matching ribbon. He storms out to the stables and he finds his favourite horse, a stallion furious as him, and he goes riding until he and the horse both are better.

He comes back laughing. It’s so hard to stay furious when he’s on a horse.

**

He’s nineteen the fall he meets Dolios, a merchant who is definitely not a merchant at all and shows up like a bad penny.

He doesn’t know what to make of Dolios and his half curling smile, even if his dreams certainly know what to make of Dolios: his thighs, his olive skin and his shoulders, all his lean muscle and easy grace. The way Dolios says _Prince Thanatos_ without any hesitation at all.

He has had many dreams of many men, and he’s never acted on any of them. He’s promised to someone already.

But he is nineteen and here is a man throwing himself at him as if he’s unaware Thanatos is Thana, which...why would he know? Dolios is Olympian; they don't tell Olympians about twins—it's sacred and joyous and they barely grasp women wearing men's clothing.

It's how his mother got his marriage.

“What do you _want_?” Thanatos finally snaps one afternoon.

“To kiss the most beautiful boy in Cathonia,” Dolios says, black eyes sparkling, that smile half curling his lips. He says it like it is the most obvious thing in all the world and suddenly, desperately, all Thanatos wants is to let him.

He does not.

Not then.

He tosses and he turns and he tries to decide what to do, because he is promised but— _but_.

Olympians don't really understand what _twin_ means.

He can be careful. Surely.

(He wants to hear Dolios call him _boy_ again, as if it’s all he is.)

**

“Tell me, say, it’s all right, just say, Than, Thanatos, tell me, I’ll call you it every day the rest of your life, just open your mouth—”

“‘Boy,’” Thanatos whispers, terrified and shaking. “Call me—that.”

“Darling boy,” Dolios says, breathes like a prayer, like he believes it, like Thanatos is only that, “Sweet boy, perfect boy, my darling boy, look at you,” and Thanatos grabs his shoulders, desperate to give him anything he’d ever want, always, even if all Dolios really wants is to fuck him.

His clothes are sticking to him, thighs damp, he is exhausted and struggling to get his air back, but still he forces out a thank you, because no one has ever given him this and he doesn’t think anyone ever will again.

Dolios leaves a week later, but not before giving Thanatos a beautiful feather ring to keep.

Thanatos is still surprised when Dolios comes back.

**

He doesn’t think Dolios means it, calling him _boy_ for the rest of his life, but his not-merchant comes back and kisses him and calls him _boy_ like it’s all he is, forever, and Thanatos forgets, for a while, he’s going to have to give it up one day.

He can’t be Thanatos forever; there’s a whole kingdom that needs him to be Thana.

He still wears that ring right up until the prince and the queen visit. Measurements. Planning. Actually _meeting_ the prince as Thana. He slips it off; it’s Thanatos’, not Thana’s.

Maybe he’ll have it buried, when they bury Thanatos.

**

Queen Hera and Prince Ares’ visit goes by in a nauseous fog. The prince is serious and reserved, as ill-inclined to speak as Thanatos. A mercy. Thanatos cannot remember anything of him beyond that, really, and even less of Queen Hera.

He sees Dolios, once.

He sees Dolios, and it is almost enough for him to ruin the peace and treaty, but he has always known he would, one day, need to be Thana.

Dolios is for Thanatos.

**

“I see no reason to bury you,” his mother says when he brings up the matter of his names. They will be departing the next day for Olympia.

Thanatos frowns.

“Thanatos is who you are.” She frowns, just a little. “Surely you realize that?”

Thanatos smiles for her; he has quite a bit of practice at it.

“Yes,” he says.

He almost thinks she will manage to see through the smile.

She does not.

He is very good, now, at hiding himself.

**4.**  
“Excited for your big day?” Hermes asks.

“No,” Ares says, adjusting a cuff.

“Well, _I_ am.”

“If you are caught fucking her twin during the ceremony, I will not stay the execution.”

Hermes laughs, but he is also very sure Ares is not joking even a little.

“I’ll save that for after I bring the change of clothes for your bride. Already got whiskey in the rooms, from Elysia, you do like that, don’t you?”

Ares does not punch him, but the look Hermes gets says he very much will if Hermes keeps pushing. Hermes does not. It’s Ares’ wedding day, he can be a little nice.

(He is hoping, desperately, to see Thanatos. He’s missed him.)

**

The guests are, of course, all assembled at court, waiting, and it is not too hard to slip his way through. He’s dressed in Ares’ white and red, dressed like he’s a messenger. The colors make it easy to slip through the crowd, find the bride’s immediate family. Eros is missing, but he’s the one giving away Thana since their father has been long dead, isn’t he; Queen Nyx next to Queen Hera, the two of them talking like the old friends they are. Charon, Hypnos, Psyche, children with names he barely remembers...

But no Thanatos which is.

Odd. Again.

“Oh,” Hypnos says, smiling just a little. “Dolios. Fancy meeting you here.”

“A very small world indeed,” Hermes agrees. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen your brother, have you?”

“Oh, Thanatos. He ah. Couldn’t make it.” Hypnos’ smile stays very firmly in place. “I’ll send him your regards? I’m sure he’ll. He’ll be very happy to hear, he was sorry he missed you. Last time.”

Hermes does not, on the whole, enjoy causing people to cry without intending to, and he is also fairly certain Hypnos is going to start crying if Hermes drags this out a second longer.

“Yes, of course. And congratulations, for your sister. Very exciting day.”

“Yes,” Hypnos says, smile going even more watery.

Hermes slips back into the crowd. He does not know Thanatos so well as many people, but he does know with complete certainty that Thanatos adores his family. Loves his family. Thinks they are the moon and stars.

Except he never did see Thana when Thanatos was around. Except, in five years, Thanatos talked about _all_ of his brothers but never _once_ mentioned his _twin_.

 _Boy. Call me that_. All those gratified thank yous over the years.

Twins—how common they are in Cathonia. All those rumours of one twin murdering the other. Cathonians, odd, all the fluid ways they use words—

“Fuck,” Hermes hisses. He needs to—he has no idea. He needs to tell Ares.

He is possibly the worst spy in the history of spies. This is _exactly_ why Ares sent him to Cathonia, how did he miss this, why are Cathonians _like this_ —why did he never—

He remembers a frown, miserable and familiar, and can only imagine how much _worse_ things are _now_.

**

"I suspect he only just realized," Nyx comments, watching Hermes rush out of the room. “I thought you said he was skilled?”

Hera sighs.

“His skill seems to vary,” she says. She would like, very much, to rub a temple and settles, instead, for drumming a finger on the arm of her chair. "He did spend all that time with Thanatos, didn't he?"

"Yes, which did wonders for Thanatos' temper. I thought he knew."

It will not, at least, ruin their plans, but still. Hera _does_ wish Hermes were just a touch more reliable, but he has always been useless if he falls in love. She should have planned for that.

**

“Highness, Prince Ares, Ares-Ares-Ares,” and Hermes very nearly crashes into him. Ares grabs his shoulders, half-expecting to hear screaming coming from court, but no—it is only Hermes, panicked. Which is equally unnerving, as the last time he looked like this led to both of them nearly dying.

Ares supposes it is not terribly out of keeping with the day's theme.

Hermes sucks in another lungful of air.

“Slow down,” Ares says.

“Thana's Thanatos,” and then Hermes is gone.

Ares blinks after him.

**

"Urgent message," the servant gasps. "For the princess."

Eros sighs, because they're always urgent messages, aren't they? But they are in Prince Ares' colours.

"I will pass it along," Eros says.

Ares' messenger smiles sharp, clearly furious, but delivers their message anyway. Then they're off—it seems a thankless task to run messages for a wedding, particularly with the size of Olympia's palace.

Eros goes back into the sitting room. Thanatos is still sitting head in hands and draped in all the finery their kingdom could give him.

"The prince requested you wear your feather ring," Eros says. " I do hope you have it."

**

Hermes wishes he could actually see if Thanatos—twins!, _gods_ , why do Cathonians go _changing_ words that have _perfectly_ sensible meanings, don’t they _realize_ what _twins_ actually _means_ —Thanatos wears the ring. What if he doesn't have it?

Hermes will simply have to trust he does because this is the only time he's going to get to break into Thanatos' room; he prays Thanatos didn't leave all his _actual_ clothes in Cathonia.

Just as soon as these stupid servants stop gossiping by the door.

Gods, if only he wasn’t in Ares’ _white_ and _bloody red_ , then he'd just climb in through the window.

**

Thana is draped in all that wealth Cathonia is known for, their blacks and deep purples dying equally expensive fabrics, tiny diamonds glittering like stars in a wedding veil woven gossamer and glimmering. She is all of her an evening sky and Ares feels, for a moment, it is a pity that all that display is wasted on him.

She still does not smile, but her veil now is sheer enough and she close enough he can see her brows drawn down. Puzzled.

Ares quite relates to the feeling, but he does not have a veil to hide behind. Surely he misheard Hermes?

“Be kind to my sibling,” Prince Eros says, which is quite an interesting choice of word.

“Of course,” Ares says.

Prince Eros studies him another moment, then presents her hand to Ares. Ares takes it, notes that she already is wearing a ring—not the worst faux pas, though it will no doubt cause gossip, then blinks.

A golden feather.

He makes himself smile, slightly, and meets Thana’s eyes.

He did not mishear Hermes.

**

There are bells.

Hermes is _certain_ Ares is going to punch him as soon as he sees him. He has no idea what Thanatos will do, which is the most exciting part of a new lover’s fury, but he is quite sure it is going to be equally exciting.

He mostly hopes it’s enough. That Thanatos won’t think he’s going to have to _stay_ dressed up like the girl he very much does not wish to be.

Gods, if only Hermes had realized sooner.

**

Nyx takes Ares’ hands, kisses each of his cheeks.

She pulls away, smile serene in the face of his wariness.

“I trust you will honor the gift your mother and I have given,” she says. “Though we rather intended you know well before now.”

**

Ares unlocks the window and pushes it open. Behind him, he hears the rustle of fabric, and when he turns, Nyx’s child is pacing. She— _he_ stops pacing at the attention.

“Sit,” Ares says, gesturing to one of two chairs by the table set with refreshment.

A moment, then he does, fabric spilling around him. He pulls the veil off, let's it fall to the floor.

Ares joins him at the table. It has, of course, a variety of delicacies, but more important, it has whiskey, which he suspects they both will appreciate.

“I assume you prefer Thanatos,” Ares says as he pours.

He does not get an answer immediately. He offers one of the glasses, and Nyx’s child takes it, careful.

It is difficult to see him as anything other than a pretty bride, but then, Ares supposes that is the trick of tailoring, hair style, makeup, and a lovely dose of assumption. Tricks his mother knew, obviously, and Nyx; tricks enough to fool an entire kingdom when mixed with a bit of cultural misunderstanding that Ares is _quite_ looking forward to prying out of Hermes because this is _exactly_ what Hermes is supposed to _notice_.

(The excuse Ares made to keep Hermes.)

“Yes,” Thanatos says. Careful.

Ares takes a seat himself, takes a sip of whiskey, and sighs.

“Drink,” Ares tells him. “We are waiting for Hermes.”

Thanatos does, hesitant, then coughs, scowling. A proper full expression.

“This is horrible,” he says. His _actual_ voice is a lower tenor, just a little rough, that it seems he hid with a great deal of precision and simply speaking as little as possible.

Ares chuckles, relaxes into his chair, and sips at his own drink. He watches Thanatos make another attempt, and allows the silence to pool around them as he considers just what, it seems, their mothers have done and Hermes has _entirely_ missed until the last possible moment.

(He will, when the anger fades, appreciate much more that his mother managed, somehow, to wed him to a man.)

“Who,” Thanatos finally asks, “is Hermes?”

**

It has been, in the grand scheme of Thanatos’ life, one of the most horrible and confusing days he has ever lived. He has spent more time crying than he thinks useful, swinging wildly between fury and nausea; he barely remembers the morning, being dressed, being made up, barely remembers anything at all until

“The prince requested you wear your feather ring”

and looking up at his eldest brother, because there should be no way for Prince Ares to even _know_ about Dolios’ ring, the ring that Thanatos had, only a few nights, ago debated bringing at all.

(But he couldn’t leave it.)

And then the _ceremony_ , put on display for all the court and swimming in confusion and trying, desperately, to understand how Ares knew the ring.

(“I think it will be a happy union,” Queen Hera said. “If a bit confusing at first. We really rather intended you know years ago. It’s unfortunate about Hermes.”)

And now, here he is, still dressed in clothes that make him ill, hair done up in ribbons and pins, face painted. The only good thing is the makeup made him feel a little more _himself_ , like they had to paint him like a doll to fool anyone. Still dressed up, sitting across from Ares with a _horrible_ drink and getting, by the second, more and more furious as he works back through the events of the day, works back through what little he knows of Ares, what he does know of Doli-Hermes—

(“Who is Hermes?”

“Arguably the worst spy in existence, and the man I gave that ring to.”

“You’re who Dolios spoke of. The one meant to spoil me.”

Ares, laughing, startled out of him with a smile that almost dulled Thanatos’ anger, for a moment.

“Yes.”)

—that when Dolios—

“There you are,” Ares says.

— _Hermes_ crawls in through the window and lands light on his feet, grinning and black eyes glinting in the moonlight spilling into the room, Thanatos sets his glass on the table, stands, and makes for him.

“Thanatos,” Hermes says, dropping the bag off his shoulder, palms up, stepping back as Thanatos paces forward, turning to the side to avoid going backwards out the window he just climbed through. “Darling boy, you’re—”

“I am going to kill you,” Thanatos says, even and clipped and precise, and lunges.

He has his hands very firmly around Hermes’ neck when Ares grabs him, arms hooked around Thanatos’ own to pull him back; Thanatos yells, kicks, hates the dress he is in _again_ , tries to get his feet under him, does, and drives a foot down on the top of Ares’ hard enough he might have just broken his new husband’s foot, he doesn’t know; he knows he is going to kill Hermes for _never telling him_ , for five years of _never_ mentioning Ares, for letting him think that those five years were all he was ever going to _get_ , and he is going to kill _Ares_ for knowing Hermes and his _stupid ring_ and staying _just as silent_ about his _stupid_ spy that week months ago, he is going to kill them _both_ , he has never in all his _life_ been so _furious_.

He is not exactly sure when the two of them both manage to pin him down; he knows his knuckles are split from punching one of them, he knows he is heaving against his stays he wants desperately out of, he knows there is a knee in his back and his hands are pinned and Hermes is babbling _nonsense_ , and he knows that he is crying, _again_ , hot and angry and _aching_.

“Well at least the guards will think I’ve properly fucked you,” Ares says, dry.

“ _Ares_ ,” Hermes says, horrified.

“I am allowed to be crass when every time _you_ fall in love _I_ get injured,” Ares says.

Thanatos swallows around tears, rolls over onto his side, and hides his face in his arms as he is let go.

“That’s _my_ job, I—oh Clementia’s tears, forgive me Thanatos, Than,” and Thanatos is, half against his will, dragged onto Hermes’ lap. “Than, my darling boy, I’m so sorry, let’s get you cleaned up, here, sit up for me, gods.”

“You didn’t _tell_ me,” Thanatos chokes out as he is pushed sitting. “All those years.”

“I could have saved you all this heartache, I know, I know. but I swear I didn't realize.”

Thanatos sucks in another breath, feeling just a little more calm as Hermes makes quick work of pins and ribbons, Thanatos’ hair spilling down around his shoulders.

“No one has actually told _me_ anything,” Ares says, half irritation, bringing the bag over. He steadies Thanatos by the arm as Hermes drags him up, guides him to sit on the bed so it is easier to get at all the laces and buttons.

“Twin doesn’t actually mean _twin_ ,” Hermes says. “I told you Cathonia is strange.”

“I presume this explains where all the rumours of murder come from.”

“ _Murder_?” Thanatos asks, horrified.

“You can set us both straight on it later,” Hermes says, laughing. “Let’s get you sorted.”

It should be, Thanatos thinks, quite embarrassing to be stripped out of his jewelry, wedding gown, and the assorted undergarments in front of Ares. He doesn’t actually _know_ the prince, but mostly it is a relief to lose them, to lift his arms when Hermes tells him to, until even his shift is gone and he is sat in nothing at all but stockings tied with ribbons at his knee that he could not give up, air cool on his skin, hair spilling around his shoulders.

“So that’s where those are,” Hermes hums, running a hand down his calf before removing one dancing slipper, then the other.

“Here,” Ares says, quiet, offering a damp cloth to scrub his face. He has been quiet for all of this, other than small barbs at Hermes from time to time as Hermes filled the silence.

Thanatos takes it, grateful, shoulders curling in and pressing his face against the soothing coolness.

“Let me,” Hermes says, tilting his chin up, and Thanatos surrenders the cloth, lets Hermes scrub his face free of paint, and finds himself staring up at them both, Ares and Hermes looking down at him as Hermes steps back to observe his handiwork.

“Isn’t he the handsomest prince you’ve ever seen?” Hermes asks with a sigh, smiling soft and bright, black eyes sparkling; Thanatos swallows, suddenly aware of the lack of clothes except for the stockings tied at his knees, of Ares’ broad shoulders and quiet gaze and the smile, just barely, beginning to turn up the corner of his mouth.

(“He’d love you, much as I do, more. It’s what the ring’s for, you know.”)

“Quite,” Ares agrees.

“He’s going to love you,” Hermes says to Thanatos. “Already does, I bet.”

“He is right,” Ares says, turning away and pulling off his coat. “He has spent years telling me about you, even if he failed to mention you are, in fact, your own twin.”

"Where else in the world does twin _not_ mean two people? There's birth records, both names, and I was just supposed to _know_ in Cathonia that doesn't mean two people? Your mother even approved it!" Hermes protests.

“I think I’m at a disadvantage,” Thanatos says. He is exhausted from the day, emotions tangled, and his eyes keep getting drawn to the flex of Ares’ arms, his shoulders, as he undresses. He doesn’t think he’s ever actually _noticed_ his size before. “I… are we meant to—”

“It has been a very exciting day,” Hermes interrupts. “Just sleep for now. We’ll worry about _that_ in the morning.”

Hermes grabs the bag, pulls out Thanatos’ favourite linen undershirt, that loose and soft fabric that falls to mid thigh, that he could not leave home, just as he couldn’t give up his favourite stockings, give up his ring, give up any of those favourite things.

“Arms up,” Hermes says, and Thanatos listens, lets Hermes get it on him, adjust it, settle it on his shoulders.

“Imagine if you’d done your job,” Ares says.

“I have, thank you, at least twenty times since I realized.” Hermes leans down, drops a kiss on Thanatos’ forehead.

Thanatos licks his lips, eyes flicking to Ares with his back to them.

“He’s very nice, isn’t he?” Hermes grins. “I did always say I’d bring you home to him, didn’t I? Didn’t realize you were actually already coming.”

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything? About… Thana, or Ares?” Thanatos finally asks.

“I was distracted by the prettiest boy in all Cathonia. Can’t very well expect me to think about _work_ under those conditions.”

Thanatos pushes Hermes’ face away; Hermes catches his hand, kisses his fingertips, holds his hand to his cheek.

“I am,” Hermes says, “terribly, horribly, truly sorry I did not think, once, to ever ask you about Thana. That I did not, in fact, actually manage to work any of this out until far too late. That I did not spend all that time telling you all the ways your husband would adore you, and you him."

Thanatos swallows.

“It’s going to be all right, my forever boy.”

“We’ll see,” Thanatos says, pulling his hand away.

Thanatos has no idea how he is going to fall asleep, but he pushes himself back into the bed, pulls up the blankets and slides against sheets that are almost, but not quite, as nice as the ones back home.

Startles as the bed dips, as Do—Hermes slides a hand over his waist and pulls Thanatos to his chest. Feels the other side of the bed dip, and looks to see Ares. Quiet, sitting, and very much nude.

Thanatos' pulse feels very insistent, his mouth dry. He isn't sure how he _didn't_ notice before that Ares is actually quite handsome.

The dress, the veil. Thana. He is terribly disinterested in everyone as Thana. In everything.

“This is Ares. He's going to take very good care of you,” Hermes says against Thanatos' ear. "I promise. You'll love him."

“We'll see," Thanatos says; he can feel the flush creeping down his cheeks, his neck, his chest.

Maybe it won't be such a hardship, the… morning.

"Ares, come here," Hermes says. "You both, terribly awkward, yes, it's my fault, get in the bed, we're just going to _sleep_. For now."

Ares snorts, but slips beneath the blankets. Rests on his side, propped on his elbow, still looking. Quiet.

"I hope I… is your foot all right?" Thanatos asks.

"Yes," Ares says. "You fight quite well."

"Thank you?"

Ares smiles, just a little.

"Go to sleep, Thanatos."

"Here, pet his hair, it always puts him to sleep," Hermes says, giving the slightest squeeze at Thanatos waist.

Ares still pauses, waits.

Thanatos swallows, then nods his head, just a little, and closes his eyes. Ares' hand is large, broad, but his touch is careful. Gentle.

It does put him to sleep; he's not sure when, but it has been a very, very long day.

**

Thanatos wakes slow, warm, to several sensations. The soft sound of voices, the feel of sheets against the back of his thighs, a stocking around his ankle. A kiss, open mouthed, to the inside of his thigh, press of another to the inside of his hip, clever fingers stroking inside him, curling, before a lick runs from the sensitive skin at the base of his cock to the head and he groans, deep and needy, hips and cock both twitching into the sensation.

The talking halts, and he wakes a little more, eyes opening.

“Out,” Ares says, the sound of a door closing. He looks down as Thanatos shifts, fumbles blind with one hand under the blanket to find Do—Hermes between his thighs. Ares chuckles and Thanatos thinks, warmly, lazily, still half-dozing, that it sounds nice even as Hermes swallows his cock and hums and his eyes roll up, another groan pulled from him as he digs his heels into the bed.

A hard sound like a rap, Hermes yelping before he sits up and takes all that soft blanket morning warmth with him.

“Rude,” Hermes says, rubbing the back of his head, fingers of his other hand still buried in Thanatos.

“I distinctly remember telling you to behave,” Ares says.

“Only have yourself to blame, shoving me under the blanket and expecting me _not_ to touch.”

Thanatos is awake, restless, cold and hot both, achingly hard and wet; Hermes’ fingers still moving inside him, and he does not mean to, but Hermes’ fingers brush against a tender spot and a little gasp escapes his throat.

They both look at him then, and he regrets it, almost immediately, flushing all the way down his chest. He wants the blanket back. Hermes, yes, but more is Ares—Thanatos does not think he has ever properly _looked_ at the prince in daylight before. His... now-husband, dark skin bare and shoulders broad, thick where Hermes is lean; the two of them, Hermes and Ares, a pair, and both looking at Thanatos.

His shirt feels, really, much too thin.

"I was only getting him comfortable," Hermes says, fingers curling again, pressing in, making Thanatos bite his lip and squirm at the attention and movement both. "Technically, it's not official until it's consummated and the sheets ruined. Are you comfortable, my darling boy?"

Thanatos hesitates, but it—well. He is very wet and Hermes is making a very persuasive case.

"Yes?" and he doesn't mean it to lilt up, but it does.

Ares' smile gets just a little hungrier.

Thanatos shivers as Ares slides one hand across his stomach, starts to pull his shirt up.

“No,” Hermes says, removing his hand and grabbing Ares’ with both his, leaving Thanatos empty and quite ready to kill him. “He _likes_ the shirt. And the stockings. They’re his favourite, aren’t they? And they make him look quite—”

“Shut _up_ ," Thanatos says, dragging himself upright, getting on his knees to better lunge for Hermes as Hermes slides back away from him.

“What a ringing endorsement,” Ares says.

“They’re very boyish, which no, not very much your thing, but you do like to debauch noblemen so pretend—” Hermes grins as Thanatos grabs hold of his face with both hands and pulls him into a kiss to get him to _shut up_ , for one second. It works, Hermes’ hands sliding up the outsides of his thighs—

—startles as Ares hums low and deep, startles as Ares’ hands push up the backs of his thighs, over his suddenly bare bottom, fingers digging into flesh and Thanatos breaks the kiss, looks back to find a naked hunger on Ares’ face, a little bit of tooth to his smile.

“I told you,” Hermes says, laughing, wrapping an arm around Thanatos’ waist to keep him upright as he slips the fingers of his other hand back in, unerringly slipping out and rubbing against the sensitive skin where cock and cunt join. Thanatos buries his face against Hermes’ neck, heat twisting in his gut and shiver running up his spine as Hermes’ fingers him, as Ares laughs, low and deep and rich. “Now, don’t you think we need to ruin these sheets?”

“Yes,” Ares says, letting go and bed dipping as he leans away. “Keep him like that for me.”

“You’re going to love this,” Hermes purrs in Thanatos’ ear, bites the lobe and sucks, fingers still working in, out, slow, steady, and Thanatos is shivering, unsure, clinging to him. “Knees a little wider, there’s a sweet boy, he’ll like that and so will you.”

Thanatos wonders, idly, if it is possible to catch on fire from flushing even as he complies, tries to comply. Feels the bed dip back and shivers, wanting to look over his shoulder again at the same moment he doesn’t, hips twitching into the steady motion of Hermes’ fingers, cock leaking.

Whimpers, trying to hide his face more as Ares slides one hand back over his hip, grip firm, tensing and shaking as Ares laughs, Hermes laughs. Hermes pressing feather kisses to his neck.

Ares leans against his back, presses a kiss to the top of his spine.

“Easy, little prince,” he says low, a promise, and presses an oil slicked finger against his back entrance, inexorable and patient.

“Let me help,” Hermes says, fingers speeding up, slipping out enough to get more friction at the base of Thanatos' cock, and stars bloom behind Thanatos’ eyes, make him lose track for a moment as his thighs shake and he rocks through a gentle climax. Opens his eyes to the sensation of Hermes still fingering him, slow again, easy, as Ares works him open, adding more oil, enough he can feel it leaking, slicking down his skin. “Relax for him, darling boy, my pretty boy, let him spoil you proper.”

Thanatos whimpers, digs his fingers into Hermes’ back, relaxes into him again.

“When?” Hermes asks.

“Now, I think.”

“Going to break him in less than a _day_.”

“Only a little,” Ares says. “Besides, there’s breakfast waiting. He barely ate yesterday.” He presses a kiss to Thanatos’ shoulder blade through fabric, draws his finger out. “I’ll give you all the attention you deserve another day, little prince. Come here.”

Ares’ hands fit almost all the way around his waist; Thanatos’ mouth, already dry, goes drier as he realizes, as Hermes pulls his hand out and helps push him back, as he is settled against Ares’ chest and onto his lap and feels the press of Ares’ cock thick trapped between them.

“Oh,” he manages, staring at Hermes. Hermes, grinning delighted, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I promised you'd like,” Hermes says. “Relax, now, precious boy. Ares, _slow_.”

“I am aware,” Ares growls; Thanatos can feel the rumble against his back, claws at Hermes’ shoulders as the two of them lift him by the waist and one of them—Hermes or Ares, he doesn’t know, they’re both supporting him, and Ares biting at his shoulder, his neck, Hermes licking into his mouth as it falls open, his eyes rolling back as one of them gets the head of Ares’ cock inside his well oiled entrance and just—

Hold him there. Kissing him, both. Ares twitching up, a little, both of them gripping tight to his waist, and he is, he thinks, going to die.

“Easy,” Ares says.

“There’s a good boy,” Hermes says.

 _Hurry_ Thanatos wants to say, or _yes_ or _please_ , but all he can manage is a mewl as they lower him on Ares’ cock bit by bit, slow, agonizingly slow, pushing the last bit of thought he has out with it. Or maybe he does say, because they are chuckling, which thrums so nicely, both of them talking, and he reaches to grab Ares’ forearm, other hand on Hermes’, clawing, sighing and whining, until finally he’s settled, hips rolling a little, Ares’ arm around his waist and other hand pushing up his shirt, stroking his belly.

“I do think I have come around on the shirt,” Ares says, just a little breathless. “Very debauched.”

“I told you,” Hermes says.

Ares shifts, rolls up; Thanatos blacks out a moment, comes back to Hermes, stroking his cock.

“—sure?”

“Yes,” Ares says, half snarl and all impatience. “Now _hurry_.”

“Yes, highness.”

“I’m going to _gag_ you next time—”

“No you won’t,” Hermes sings. Thanatos loses track of everything but the slide of Ares’ cock in him as he’s lifted up but not entirely off, legs rearranged, Ares growling and Hermes laughing.

“Oh,” Thanatos whispers as he feels the head of Hermes' cock slip in where his fingers were, shaking overwhelmed at the press and slide of them both as he's lowered bit by bit again, until he's resting in both their laps, Ares nipping at his neck and Hermes grinning at him.

“Very oh,” Hermes says, strokes his jaw. “How are you feeling, my forever boy? Properly spoiled? Taken care of?”

They’re both still, both stroking his sides, his chest, his ribs, his thighs. One of them has grabbed his hair, tugging a little—Ares. Thanatos is shaking, very much, even though they are still and he feels—

very full, very hot, very shaky, very needy, very _everything_.

“Very,” Thanatos manages.

“Good very?”

He nods, whines as Ares rolls into him again, dizzy at the sensation of it, they’re both so _big_ , so much, it almost feels _too much_.

“Here,” Hermes says, takes Thanatos' hands and drapes them over his shoulders.

“ _Hermes_ ,” Ares growls.

“Impatient,” Hermes says, laughs, then presses a kiss to Thanatos' jaw. “Say stop if it gets too much, all right? Can you? Say it for me.”

“Stop,” Thanatos says, clenching around them barely, relaxing again.

“Good boy,” Hermes says, smile going sharp. “Hang on now.”

Thanatos tries, very hard, but it is a lost cause nearly immediately. They are both so much; both pulling him up, both rolling up into him as they pull him down. They take turns milking his cock, Ares’ hand broad, Hermes’ hand rough, familiar, and he is crying and crying out both, scrambling for purchase on Hermes’ shoulders, falling into one orgasm, then another, neither pausing for any of them. Both of them arguing, snarling at each other, laughing, a kiss pressed to his skin that barely registers, another, caught between them as they fall into a steady rhythm together and he stops trying to hold on entirely, limp and spent and whining as first one then the other spills inside him and finally, finally, go still; Hermes’ forehead resting against his chest, Ares’ against his shoulder, both gentle rubbing the bruised and aching skin at his waist, soothing shivers he cannot stop.

“Clean up,” Ares eventually murmurs and Hermes groans and Thanatos opens his eyes blearily, trying to make sense of the words.

He is a mess; there is so much spend leaking down his thighs as they help get him off, as they untangle from each other. So much sweat slicking his skin, soaking his shirt, all of him tender and aching, muscles shivering, finding a pillow to curl around because it makes the room feel a little more stable. Dozes, wakes to a cool cloth wiping him down, to hands pulling him up and getting his shirt off, his stockings, wrapping him into a robe.

“I will carry him,” Ares says, and then he’s scooped up, an arm at his back and another behind his knees. Hermes reaching up, guiding his head to rest against Ares’ shoulder and not hang down.

“Your hair is a disaster,” Hermes says, fingers scratching against his scalp. “Need a comb.”

“Top of the bureau.”

Thanatos blinks, focuses on Ares carrying him, the profile of his face. There's a bruise, only just visible against dark skin.

“This is,” he mumbles, “the oddest first meeting I’ve ever had.”

Ares glances down at him, raising an eyebrow. His smile is slight, ticks up the corner of his mouth and would, if he let it, show a bit of teeth.

“But good, I trust.”

Thanatos nods.

“It is good to finally meet you properly, as well, Thanatos.”

Thanatos smiles, just a bit.

“How romantic,” Hermes says, pushing open the door to the connected drawing room, where breakfast has already been laid out.

Ares laughs, low and rich.

They take turns feeding him, at least until he can mostly sit on his own. He is sore and aching and there are foods here he has not tried and he is suddenly ravenously hungry. He eats and does not swear too much when they tug his hair as they comb it, forces them to eat, and tries not to think of the fact there are more events today.

“Don’t fret,” Hermes says, offering another piece of what Thanatos has been told is a sweet orange.

“We will come up with a satisfactory solution,” Ares says, smoothing Thanatos’ hair down with a hum, then wrapping it around his hand slowly and tugging, forcing Thanatos’ neck back. Thanatos blinks up at him; he is utterly spent, but it still makes him flush, just a little. Ares grins. “I will see to it you are kept well.”

Thanatos swallows, tears welling in his eyes as Ares’ releases his hair.

“First, clothes,” Hermes says. “It’s an awful state, his wardrobe, but I brought what's wearable.”

“I am certain some of ours can be repurposed, for a time.”

“And his ring, I can’t believe you went with just a plain band.”

“ _I_ like it.”

“It’s horrible.”

“It is practical.”

“How did you ever think to have a feather made for me?”

Thanatos listens to them argue as he eats and watches sunlight spill through a window and dares to think that he won’t actually need to bury any part of himself at all.

**5.**  
“Is it all right?” Thanatos asks.

“It suits you,” Ares assures. “Your coat.”

Thanatos gives a last look at the mirror, then slips into the coat Ares is holding out. Ares turns him, smooths the front, ensures the coat sits evenly over the waistcoat, adjusts a final time the cravat it is frustratingly difficult to keep Thanatos from removing and which will, at some point during the evening, vanish despite Ares’ best efforts. The outfit suits him—it emphasizes both a very trim waist that Ares is quite fond of bruising and delightfully broad shoulders he is equally fond of biting.

“Thank you,” Thanatos says, because Hermes’ darling boy is quite fond of thanks for things that Ares is certain do not require thanks. Ares is only honoring their mothers' gift, the promise he made Hermes with the ring Thanatos yet wears.

It is very endearing, Thanatos' thanks. Much of Thanatos is. Particularly his temper, though it is far more difficult to draw out than Hermes'.

“Not at all,” Ares says. “Now, dinner. I’m quite looking forward to what my father has to say.”

**

Here’s a picture:

Hermes in Olympia, in the palace, which is perhaps his favourite place to be these days, because while _many_ places he goes are a delight, none of them are as much a delight as Olympia, the palace, and slipping in through the window after getting back from a trip away, landing light on his feet. It wakes Ares, because Ares has a much keener sense of danger, but that’s not the picture, the picture is:

Thanatos, asleep, hair short and a mess; Ares, propping himself up with an elbow to watch as Hermes kneels on the bed; Hermes, kneeling on the bed and kissing his way along the bare curve of Thanatos’ neck.

“Can’t believe you got him to cut it,” Hermes says as Thanatos stirs, eyes fluttering open with a little sigh.

“It was not so hard. You said it would be boyish,” Ares says, and perhaps Hermes did; he doesn’t remember. That was months ago, now.

Thanatos rolls a little, blinks up at Hermes, and then a sweet smile breaks his face, hand brushing Hermes’ cheek.

“Hello, my darling boy,” Hermes says. “Has Ares been keeping you nicely?”

“Mm,” Thanatos hums, eyes beginning to drift closed again. Hermes catches his hand before it falls and jerks him awake, presses a kiss to the back, and stands, starts to strip.

“Have you kept _yourself_ nicely?” Hermes asks Ares.

Ares snorts.

“And you call me romantic,” he says.

“You are.”

“Hurry up and get in the bed.”

Hermes grins, happy to oblige. He has all sorts of secrets to tell Ares, but they can wait till dawn, perhaps even past breakfast, because for now what he would like, best of all, is to sleep.

Hermes slips into the bed, curls up against Thanatos’ back, and sighs when Ares catches his hand and presses a kiss along the inside of his wrist, to his palm, Ares resting his face, just a moment, against Hermes’ grasp before he lets go.

(Hermes will, in the morning, end up on his knees, one way or the other. He has been gone a while.)

Here’s a picture:

Hermes, an early morning sunrise, sitting in the stands of the horse track pleasantly fucked out, eating the breakfast they brought with, and watching his two princes ride. Thanatos beats Ares nearly every time, he’s a lighter rider. It makes Ares smile every time, the smile that Hermes first fell in love with that morning, all those years ago; it makes Thanatos laugh, bell-like and bright, the way Hermes still falls in love with every time.

Hermes does love a man on horseback. Two men, even if one prefers to be called a boy.

He really ought to thank the queens one day. It was a very good trick, years in the making, but he thinks, considering his track record with queens and princesses and how it tends to injure his men, it might be better to keep his thanks to himself.

That’s all right, really. Sometimes the best thanks is simply appreciating the gift. Besides, he doesn’t think it was actually meant for him.

“Did you eat all the toast?” Thanatos asks once he is hungry enough to abandon the racing, searching through the basket set next to Hermes.

“Might have,” Hermes says, mostly to watch Ares scowl as he follows Thanatos; he hasn’t, of course, but he does so enjoy Ares’ irritation.

Thanatos pulls out sweet oranges, settles next to Hermes on the bench. He stretches his legs in front of him, lovely black embroidery running up the sides of his stockings today, and sets to peeling his fruit as Ares finds the toast that Hermes did not, in fact, eat because Hermes does so love letting Ares think he’s stealing it from under his nose.

“How is court?” Hermes asks.

“Awful,” Ares says as Thanatos says, “Better.”

“Athena spent an hour at dinner yesterday lecturing Zeus about honoring the customs of one’s spouse while Hera watched,” Thanatos says. “It’s better.”

“You and Athena working together on anything,” Hermes says with a low whistle; it makes Ares grin with just the barest hint of teeth.

“Strange times,” Ares says.

“Wish I could have seen it.”

“You did not miss much,” Ares says. “You know my sister.”

“True,” because if anyone could make lecturing Zeus dull, it's Athena.

“What else has he done?” Hermes asks Thanatos, because Ares will think half of it, most of it really, not worth mentioning at all; will assume it was simply what needed to be done and therefore below notice, but Thanatos will, and does, remember every little bit of space that Ares carves out for him. He listens, lets Ares steal the last of the toast, shushes Ares when Ares tries to interrupt, and watches Thanatos, still and always his darling forever boy, smile slow and soft and talk about all the ways the court has been changing—about women insisting _they_ get to wear breeches if they’d like, about titles being pushed and prodded at, about changes in who hunts with who, who rides with who, fencing and archery and horse races, about the more mild of Cathonian ideas being introduced bit by bit to a court that delights in the strangeness and newness even as certain kings and their brothers disapprove.

“Thank you for keeping him,” Hermes will say, later, Thanatos out hunting with Artemis, carding his hands through Ares’ hair, Ares half dozing in his lap.

Ares blinking up at him.

“Of course,” Ares says, as if there is nothing more obvious to do in all the world, as if it is only natural to follow Hermes’ fickle heart blindly wherever it takes him.

Hermes smiles, twines his hand in one of Ares’, and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“All the same,” Hermes says.

Ares snorts, pulling his hand free.

“You gave him my ring,” Ares says. “I do not know what you expected.”

“Right,” Hermes says, and lets the silence pool around them, running his fingers through Ares’ hair. Listening to Ares doze, listening to the birds outside sing, watching the afternoon sunlight spill in through the open window and the wind catch the curtains every now and then.

Lets himself doze.

**

Thanatos arrives back from hunting and finds Ares and Hermes both sleeping; it is only a moment he gets to see the both of them at rest, because they wake nearly immediately—Hermes grinning bright, Ares humming low, both of them stretching and sitting and pulling Thanatos down between them before he can protest he did not mean to wake them.

“A good hunt?” Ares asks, arm around Thanatos' waist.

“Yes,” Thanatos says.

“No idea how you have the patience for it,” Hermes says, fingers rubbing against the short hair at Thanatos’ neck.

“It is fun,” Thanatos says, because it is. He loves archery, he loves what Artemis shares with him to be even better at it, he loves to hunt.

“Our little prince is right,” Ares says; it makes Hermes groan, roll his eyes, but neither of them pull away even as they fall, again, into another argument.

Thanatos loves them—separately and together. Ares’ brilliant anger when Thanatos manages to trip him up while fencing, Hermes’ quiet fury when he realizes he’s been tricked; Ares’ satisfied smile when they go hunting, Hermes’ pleased grin when he sneaks them all out of the palace for a night.

The easy way Hermes and Ares fall in step as soon as they are together, how they pull Thanatos between them, always, despite how little he still knows of their history, as if it is his history, too, or will be soon enough. Their physicality—Ares’ hand at the small of his back, Hermes’ arm around his waist, the feel of Ares’ shoulders, the feel of Hermes’ thighs. The grace they both have, even as they both hold themselves so differently.

The way they both push back, in their own ways, at a court he learned, all his life, was not given to bending. Thanatos cannot understand how his mother knew any of it; he still cannot believe she was right he would be happy with the marriage after all. And Hera—the way his mother-in-law has, since that first morning after his wedding, so casually defended his clothes, his appearance, _him_. The way all of them have made sure he can be who he has always known himself to be while securing a peace for his family and kingdom that will, with any luck, long outlast him.

It’s a joyous thing, being himself, as joyous as he was always told it would be, even if sometimes he gets called the wrong name, the wrong title. It’s fine. Olympians are stupid.

But they’ve been learning and maybe, eventually, they’ll get it right.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, as ever, for reading <3 even if all you got is a keysmash, i'd love to hear what you thought
> 
> the time period is vague fantasy 1760s-ISH if you wanna have an idea of the particulars for the clothes and why the fuck i called tangerines 'sweet oranges.' yes apparently some form of whiskey existed in 1760s what a world. no, i did NOT do the powdering of hair and all the wigs cause i love the game's character designs TOO MUCH.


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